


Tobacco

by Mackem



Category: Doctor Who (2005), GAIMAN Neil - Works, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Time Lord, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:59:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay. So. It is something of a headcanon of mine that Neil Gaiman is a Time Lord. Who could therefore travel back to the time of Sherlock Holmes. ...yeah. Er. Just go with it?</p>
    </blockquote>





	Tobacco

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. It is something of a headcanon of mine that Neil Gaiman is a Time Lord. Who could therefore travel back to the time of Sherlock Holmes. ...yeah. Er. Just go with it?

The last thing he sees is something of a blur; dirty brick towering above him, mud flying up from the hooves of a horse being restrained too late, and the wavering face of a moustachioed man, asking him in a loud, clanging voice if he could remember his name.

"Yes," he says dreamily, and passes out.

The _next_ thing he sees is a ceiling fogged with smoke, the scent of which tugged at almost-buried traces of his past vice. It smelled fabulous; dark and familiar, edged with something more than mere tobacco.

When the man introduces himself as Sherlock Holmes Neil quite fails to function for fifteen minutes or so. When he asks Neil what form his Tardis takes, he cannot help but think 'of course'.

"How did you know?"

"A friend of mine allowed me use of his stethoscope while you recovered. Two hearts."

Simple enough; too simple to fit with every account of the man. Neil gives an encouraging smile, and is rewarded with a sly, devious smirk around the stem of his pipe.

"Really? Well, then, if knowledge of your race is insufficient – you have made no attempt to fit current sartorial fashions, no bowing to common dialectical norms, and about your person you had various items of such technological advance as to suggest you are, as you said, 'not from around here'. Really, given your biology, no other conclusion could be reached."

Neil frowns. "The items I _had_?" His words are brushed away with a sweep of his long fingers, as if they mean little.

"They will be returned, after a period of study."

They sip their tea; at least, Neil sips his tea and Holmes sips _something_ from his teacup. A thought occurs.

"Two hearts?"

"Indeed; a standard biological feature of many races, undoubtedly, but to the best of my not inconsiderable recollection, a feature of only one humanoid form. The Time Lord."

"Yes, but how do you know that?" Holmes' smirk fades only briefly. The smoke spilling from the bowl of his clay pipe increases as he huffs.

"A rival of mine gained some assistance from a man such as you. While I was unable to apprehend either," – and Neil sees the proud look in his eyes flicker, in something close to self-loathing, – "I _did_ get my hands on a few notes he left behind on his unusual accomplice. Two hearts were mentioned."

"And drumming?" Neil tries, and the curt nod says it all. Worrying, if _he_ has been helping criminal masterminds. He'll have to pass a message on. "Then I wouldn't fret that even you couldn't catch him. He's notoriously slippery."

"I shan't muse further on my…lack of success. Should it happen again, however, I shall feel obliged to leave all behind attempts to apprehend criminals and instead to join the police."

The laughter makes his head hurt, the stitches above his eyebrow protesting. Holmes is suddenly beside him, hand rested at his chin, eyes shining as he examines the cut. He smells…overwhelming; spicy, and somehow dark, with more than a faint scent of chemicals and the glorious notes of tobacco curling around them. Neil breathes in instinctively.

"You should rest."

"I _am_ resting."

"I mean to say, you should lie down."

"Oh?"

"Immediately, lest you hurt yourself further."

"On this very dangerous couch," Neil offers, and his smile is matched twice over by Holmes' lascivious smirk.

"One cannot be too careful."

"I see," Neil chuckles. He mentally girds his loins, sure he has read this right but never entirely confident, and adds, "What about your bed? Is it as dangerous as this couch?"

"A good point. It can be. I myself have received many injuries whilst within in – most notably scratches and bruises," Holmes says gravely, and those eyes _shine_. "Perhaps it would not do to leave you without a…companion. Somebody familiar with it, to keep you safe."

"Perhaps not," Neil smiles, and is very pleased to discover that the tobacco tastes as glorious as it smells.


End file.
